


five birthdays

by punkrockbadger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday, Gen, Happy 56th Stag Dad!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockbadger/pseuds/punkrockbadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Potter has had fifty-six birthdays. Here are five of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	five birthdays

[27/3/1961]

There is smoke everywhere, and the priest is chanting across the little brick box the fire is in. You are held tightly in Amma’s lap, looking up at your father as he repeats back the priest’s words, the image of calm. You sneeze hard, when a thin tendril of smoke reaches your nose, and Amma laughs, wiping your nose with the end of her sari.

You settle back into her lap, yawning around a mouthful of your chubby fingers, and smile when one of your aunts waves at you. You are sweaty, the stuffy late March heat of Tamil Nadu sticking your messy black curls to your forehead, and the smoke is itching the inside of your nose a little, but you are still happy.

Appa’s voice is soft, slow and solid, like it is when he sings you to sleep in the evenings, and Amma runs her hand through your hair every so often, a quiet reminder that she is still here.

There are years and years ahead of you, and one year behind you, and you have the whole world to look forward to. Yes. You are happy.

* * *

[27/3/1976]

You are an Animagus. The sound of it is unbelievable.

You, silly little Janardhan Iyer (or James Potter, as you'll go down in history), forever playing at dangerous things that are too big for him, are an Animagus.

You are part of a small, elite group of wizards, and at sixteen no less. You don’t think this is what your mother meant, when she said you’d be great someday, but it is filling your heart with joy and Remus is safe, so all of your fears have been well taken care of. You are making something of yourself, and at something academic no less. You, who others have written off as fidgety and good for nothing in school because you talk a little too fast and listen a little too little, and can’t sit still during lectures. You are the one to discover this in yourself, to become something greater.

Sometimes you turn into Prongs just for the hell of it, on days that aren’t moon days, and just run. The boys try to discourage the habit, but they don’t know the feeling of unease that settles in your bones when you are still too long. They don’t know how you miss running around behind your grandfather’s house during the school years, how that strange sense of not belonging weighs you down further and further until you feel like your feet will sink through the dirt if you take one more step further.

Tonight is one such night. You lift your nose up to the moon, watching it cut its silvery path across the sky.

This is not a bad way to spend a birthday, you think, and smile, as much as a stag can.

* * *

[27/3/1977]

“Happy birthday.” Lily says.

You are friends now, better friends than you could have ever imagined, and it is half you finally learning to listen that did it, and the other half the war looming heavy over you both. You have secured your place in the Order, today, without telling your parents, your boys or Lily—you are an adult, now, and old enough to make your decisions, and staying and fighting, despite your parents’ small, soft insistences that you leave as soon as you graduate, if not before, is your decision. You would not dare back down from a fight. It is not in the Potter genes, you think, remembering your sweet older brother, stolen from everyone in a flash of a Death Eater’s wand.

You are going to be an Auror, when you leave school next year, and you’re going to be damn good at it.

“Thanks.” You say, feeling a little more at ease, thanks to the sound of her voice. As much as you want to be an Auror already, to save the world already, there is still a year of schooling left, and you’d much rather hear her voice than do much else, until that time is up.

* * *

[27/3/1980]

You are going to have a baby this year.

Twenty years old, and you are going to be a father in just four more months. You can hardly stand the wait—every day seems so long, and you just want to meet the baby already, although you know it’s better that he sticks around inside Lily a little longer. You want to get to know him, though, in a way deeper than just feeling fluttery kicks every once in a while, want to hold him in your arms and kiss his little face and watch him discover the world.

Your mother says it is a mark of you stepping into your role as a father, praises you lavishly in all of her letters, carefully postmarked and sent the Muggle way to whichever safe house you are staying in. You hope she will be able to meet her first grandchild—she and your father have been having a rough time of it lately, and she’s been saying it over and over in a way that worries you. They both refuse to give you any details, as they always have, but you want this one wish of theirs to come true. You want them to see your baby, want them to be grandparents securely, in case anything at all goes wrong.

“You’re gonna be great, kanna.” You tell the baby, your little sweetheart, when you’re sure Lily’s asleep. “I can’t wait to have this next year with you.”

* * *

[27/3/2016]

“Thatha!” A voice cries out, and it’s Hari’s oldest, running forward with a card in his hand. “Thatha, look! For you!” You have never quite gotten used to being called Grandpa, but it feels much less foreign these days than it used to.

Your oldest grandson’s home for the Easter holidays, and you’re glad to see him as often as you do—the boy’s quite attached to both sets of his grandparents, and his soft, gentle voice is a constant in your house, which is feeling empty now that everyone's gotten older and moved securely into their own lives. You never knew how used to the sound of feet slapping against the floor you were until that sound was gone, leaving you to wake up to a nearly empty house, with only your wife to keep you company.

It feels a bit spooky, now, you think, as you hold your hand out for the card. “Let’s see then, hm?”

“Open it?” He asks hesitantly, handing it over gently, and you open the card just as carefully as he wants you to, smiling at the clump of tiny paragraphs he’s written inside. “Glasses aren’t enough for this, raja, I’m going to need a magnifying glass on top of these old things.”

He whips one out from the pocket of his cargo shorts, holding it out confidently like he’s been prepared for that all this time, and you laugh. Hari was right in giving this one Sirius’ name—it’s well deserved.

“Thank you.” You say, because you really do know how blessed you are to be here. There are so many ways it could have gone wrong, over the years, but here you are, with years and years behind you and even more ahead. “This means a lot.”

“It’s your day, Thatha.” Your grandson says, shrugging. “I’m just doing what I should.”

You have raised a good boy, you think, if he is raising one like this.

“I’m lucky to have all this.” You say, ruffling his hair. “And I am lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have you too.” He says, smiling brightly, before pulling up a chair to your desk. “Tell a story?”

“Well”, you start, “years and years ago, your Thatha was a little boy…”

"Really?" He cuts in, a mischievous smile on his face, which looks so much like yours did at eleven. Eleven seems like ages ago, although it really wasn't, like you are reaching across centuries toward those days rather than a few decades. It hits you then, that it's almost been fifty years since you began at Hogwarts, and you are stunned by the reality before you break into a laugh.

"Oh, really." You say, thinking of how much things have changed. "I really was."


End file.
